


How Did it Come to This?

by thedoctorpottergleek



Series: Takashi/Kyoya [2]
Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Implied Past Underage, M/M, Memories, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoctorpottergleek/pseuds/thedoctorpottergleek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takashi reflects on what he and Kyoya had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Did it Come to This?

**Author's Note:**

> Again based on an RP thread I have going. Takashi and Kyoya were lovers once upon a time and then they went their separate ways. Years later they've bumped into each other once more dredging up a painful past.

Where had they gone wrong? Although… ‘wrong’ wasn’t  _quite_  the right word; perhaps a better choice would have been ‘drift apart’. Yes, that was it. Where had they begun to drift apart — and most importantly —  **when**? Silence was the only thing to answer his train of thought.  _Well?_  His mind remained stubbornly blank, refusing to give even the slightest inch as he tried to think back.  _Think, damn it. Think back to where it all began…_

_To where it all began…_

Where else but in the unused music room? They had been young —  _too_  young — and  **foolish**. It wasn’t as if they clicked the moment they saw each other, far from it. No. It had crept up on them. Slowly but surely as the first year of the Host Club dragged on gazes began to linger on retreating backs, sly side-long glances as they hosted, a casual exchange of empty words whilst their eyes told a different story, and the nonchalant brush of skin against skin.

It had been a  _game_  at first.

A game that neither of them seemed to be willing to lose. He knew his cousin was watching him, troubled, but he ignored that fact. Takashi had been completely and utterly  _consumed_  by the mere thought of Kyoya. Each look, no matter how subtle, sent a jolt through his system that he tried to hide with moderate success; to an unsuspecting observer there was nothing amiss but he  _knew_ … he knew the raven haired boy saw how it affected him. And he  ** _r e l i s h e d_**  it. _  
_

Nothing happened that year.

Autumn, winter, and then it was spring again. A full turn around the sun, the beginning of his  _last_ year. The beginning of the  **end**. Mori was still caught in the shadow king’s net becoming more entangled as the days passed… not that he was trying particularly hard to free himself. After all, his kohai was  _intriguing_  to say the least; one never knew exactly where one stood with him as he kept most people at a distance. If people put up walls around themselves then he had erected a fortress.

Impenetrable.  _Unyielding_.  **I n d e s t r u c t i b l e**.

There seemed to be no chink, not one bit of weakness in its foundations. He should have known better. He should have known better than getting involved. Dancing with the Devil was what he was doing; a slow waltz of impending destruction for both parties involved. The waltz eventually evolved into a passionate tango, each step leading closer to the tantalising edge of no return.  _A one way road to Hell._  There would be no return to normalcy. No. Never again would things be the same between. But maybe… maybe that was what they were aiming for in the first place. _  
_

They stood on the precipice… and then they **f e l l**.

He remembered his initial thought after their lips met for the first time:  _Forgive me Father, for I have sinned and I have not an ounce of repentance._ _If the sin be as sweet as this I will be a sinner forever more_. How could the Devil taste so  _good_? Normal temptation never tasted as wonderful as Kyoya did in the shadowy recesses of the club room after hours. Time seemed not to exist as their roaming hands explored their respective bodies, committing to memory each and every detail they came upon. Lips melded together. Hair became mussed. Gasping. Panting. A light sheen of sweat. Murmured words and muttered curses. Release.  **Bliss**. _  
_

Over and over they kept _colliding_.

Neither of them had the word ‘regret’ in their vocabulary. This was  _exciting_ , it was  _new_. And so it continued. Their encounters were silent exchanges brimming with ill contained lust and desire. Quick, brutal even. Marks were given. Marks were received. Who was to be the  **winner**? Both were hellbent on walking away victorious. Neither saw the first cracks appear that would eventually shatter everything between them.

_Just like a **b r o k e n**  mirror._

Time moved on whether they cared or not. Graduation. One last meeting in  _that_  room. Discarded clothes, flushed faces, and slick skin. A last moan. Silence. The rustle of clothes and the soft thud of the door. The feeling of  _loss_. A weight seemed to settle around his chest as they resumed their roles in the great play of society. Their carefully constructed world now had  _real_  implications if they brought  **emotion**  into it. Takashi kept it to himself.

Like a moth to a flame, he was still drawn to him.

Somehow they kept finding ways to engage one another. Ravenous kisses, desperate hands, and the taste of satisfaction. And all the while the cracks spread until the lightest touch would  **obliterate**  it. It didn’t end with a crash as he thought it would, no, rather a soft clatter like rain on a tin roof as the pieces fell all around them. The shards reflected the ‘them’ that they had hid for so long; who they were, who they had been, and who they were going to be with all their insecurities and imperfections. Their  _dependency_ , their  **need**.  ** _L o v_ _e_**.

And thus they parted ways never looking back. Not because they didn’t care, but because they were both too  _proud_.

Too proud to realise — and admit — that they wanted, no,  **needed**   each other like the earth needed the moon. The push and pull nature… that was  _them_ ; they were yin and yang, positive and negative, day and night. But they said their goodbyes and passed each other by like ships in the night.

It is said that time heals all wounds.

Bull- **fucking** -shit. The first week went by smoothly; after all he was too busy to dwell on the past. Towards the end of the first month he became restless without knowing why. Two months and his chest felt fit to burst and his limbs like they were filled with lead. Three months and all he wanted to do was forget. Forget what  _feeling_  was like; to turn off all his emotions and become that  _wooden_ persona he projected unto the world.

Days **weeks** _months_ years merged together.

Somehow he had managed to pull his life together but he was never  _whole_. There was always some part of him, that constant ache in the pit of his stomach, who  _remembered_. He tried in vain to cut off all thoughts that involved Kyoya.  **Kyoya** … Just the name would send him into a trip down memories that could never quite be erased, just muted and toned down like a water colour painting left outside in the rain, details all running into one another. A bearable mess with no sharp details. Fuzzy outlines of times long gone by… of his friend.  ~~ _Lover_.~~ _  
_

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. After so many years they’d finally bumped into each other.

The dam is beginning to crumble threatening to unleash the torrent of  _emotions_  that had been locked away for so long. Knees will buckle and wills will falter as they fall into each other’s lives once more.

 **P u s h**  
     and  
           _p u l l_.


End file.
